Logos Virtual Library: George Herbert: The Temple: The Church: Grace

George Herbert

George Herbert (1593-1633)

The Temple

Grace

My stock lies dead, and no increase
Doth my dull husbandrie improve:
O let thy graces without cease

Drop from above!

If still the sunne should hide his face,
Thy house would but a dungeon prove,
Thy works nights captives: O let grace

Drop from above!

The dew doth ev’ry morning fall;
And shall the dew out-strip thy dove?
The dew, for which grasse cannot call,

Drop from above.

Death is still working like a mole,
And digs my grave at each remove:
Let grace work too, and on my soul

Drop from above.

Sinne is still hammering my heart
Unto a hardnesse, void of love:
Let suppling grace, to crosse his art,

Drop from above.

O come! for thou dost know the way.
Or if to me thou wilt not move,
Remove me, where I need not say,

Drop from above.